Everyone at the table was staring at me in mild revulsion. Even Nixon, who often found my moods and idiosyncrasies charming, or at the very least funny, was staring at me like I'd lost my mind. Nicodemus and Deirdre looked affronted like they'd been made to sit at the edge of a sty and watch pigs dig for truffles. I was offending even my own personal fiend with my display of excess.
"My host this is just..." she trailed off with a sigh. "Childish."
I sawed off another hunk of blueberry pancake and shoved it into my mouth with the piece of greasy bacon that I'd folded like an accordion.
"Are you planning to take a breath sometime this century?" Hannah asked, biting the words off with irritation.
I did at least have the good manners to swallow my mouthful of congealed breakfast goo before smiling back. "Can't talk, gotta get ready."
"And choking down your weight in pancakes is going to help?" Salem asked, eyeing the four pancakes still on the stack and the small avalanche of bacon off to its side. I'd started out with eight pancakes, so I was making magnificent headway after only about five minutes.
"It is, actually," I said, dabbing some syrup off my chin in an effort to prove I wasn't a total caveman. "Unlike you, Nixon, and Thorn I don't have a vampire's abilities to lean back on to fuel my strength or magic. And I don't have Hannah's fine precision control. She's a sniper, I'm a tank. Tanks need fuel. Thus, flapjacks. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to inhale a few more."
We were gathered at a local diner to go over the plan one last time. After that, we'd head a mile up the coast to a stretch of tidepools out of the sight of most of the beachgoers, where I'd open a way. From there, I was told it was about a half hour's walk through the Nevernever to our destination near Sequim, Washington. For very obvious reasons it was faster and safer than flying. With three half-vampires, a wizard, and two and a half Denarians, I figured we could probably manage whatever we met on the trail, even if going back into faerie made me very antsy.
"Still," Nixon said mildly. "It wouldn't kill you to chew."
I just grinned at him and very deliberately folded three more pieces of bacon into my mouth. The beautiful part of all of this? Nicodemus was paying for this little travesty. If I had to work with him, I at least was going to make it as uncomfortable for him as possible.
The button of my jeans was weeping in futile agony by the time I'd polished off what was on my plate and then drained the enormous cup of hot chocolate that had come with my meal. A small food baby had formed around my middle and strained the front of the maroon T-shirt that read; "Y'All Need Jesus." I'd change into my armored jacket and assorted battle gear when it came closer to time.
I set my fork across my plate and sat up a little straighter, propping my elbows on the table as I leaned forward with feigned eagerness. "Alright. Now that we're all through, let's recap Operation Bathrobe one more time."
A muscle near Nicodemus' eye twitched. Anduriel's form shifted restlessly behind Nicodemus. Inwardly Lasciel gave a resigned sigh. I smiled cherubically for the pair of them.
"Operation Bathrobe?" Deirdre repeated, taking the prod much less stoically than her father.
"Well I was going to go with Operation Holy Messianic Outerwear Batman, but HMOB just doesn't have the same ring to it."
"Molly, for hell's sake please stop," Lasciel said. "Nicodemus is a patient man, but persist in this obstreperous behavior and he will likely retaliate. I will, of course, protect you. But that comes at a cost. Do you wish to tip our hand to him?"
She had a point. Needling the millennia-old leader of the Fallen past endurance was just demanding to be handed a Darwin Award. So I kept the smile fixed in place and prompted;
"This is the part where we rehash the plan so we're all copacetic, right?"
Deirdre snorted contemptuously and continued to glare at me. I avoided her eyes. I was pretty sure a soulgaze would reveal Lasciel knocking around my cranium to anyone who knew what they were looking for.
Nicodemus expelled a breath, just the hint of annoyance riding the exhale.
"As we discussed, the buyer is a sorcerer named Vincent Savoy. He falls short of White Council material by a mere fraction. He is very well-connected and what defenses he cannot devise himself he will have bought. There are three layers of protection in place that we know of already and likely innumerous others that we have not uncovered."
"And can we go over those once more for the peanut gallery?" I asked innocently.
Nicodemus idly plucked the knife from his side of the table. I tensed a fraction. It was just a butter knife, and it'd take some doing to make an attack lethal, but this was Nicodemus Archleone. I was sure he'd accomplished more with less.
He laid the knife flat and tapped it. "The first layer of defense is simple. Savoy stores his collection in a compound deep in the Olympic National Park and pays a hefty sum to have it largely ignored. The regular rainfall will discourage magical combatants from entering."
"Which begs the question why you want us," I pointed out. "We're all practitioners of varying talent. It'll be hard to cast if we're in a downpour."
"I assure you it will not be a problem." He said it with consummate confidence.
I decided to let the matter drop. Though intensely curious, I wasn't sure that I wanted to know what he had planned. Lasciel would probably fill me in on probable scenarios on the way to Sequim.
Nicodemus moved his spoon into place next. "The second layer of defense is a collection of human mercenaries to discourage further incursions."
"Seems stupid to just have humans guarding the place," Salem commented. "Especially if he's expecting wizards. Humans are easy."
"Another deterrent for the average wizard. Murder through magical means is a breach of White Council law. To breach the Laws in such a manner will incur the White Council's retaliation. Most would not risk it."
"But we've already got our asses in the flame so to speak, so it doesn't matter much what we do," I finished on a sigh.
Nicodemus inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Mr. Thorn, Mr. Dixon, and Miss Salem will handle the mercenaries."
It took me a few seconds to figure out who Mr. Dixon was, and then had to bite the inside of my cheek to contain a snort of laughter. Nixon Dixon? That was the last name he'd decided to give?
Nicodemus settled the final utensil in place.
"The third defense is a latticework of spells that will require extreme care to evade or dismantle. That is where you come in, Miss Lenhardt. I am told your attention to detail is impeccable."
From anyone else the compliment would have made me preen. Nicodemus' praise just made my brain ache and my stomach roll nervously.
"Now that we're all caught up-" Hannah began.
"Hang on a second," I interjected. "I still have questions."
Hannah dropped all pretenses and turned a gaze on me that clearly said she'd throttle me if I didn't shut up soon.
"I don't suppose I can prevent you?" Nicodemus said giving me a droll stare.
"Before I landed myself in trouble I was an apprentice. My teacher made me learn as much as I could about the magical world and all its moving parts. I've heard of you, Archleone. Your people are signatories of the accords. Order of the Blackened Denarius. Deals with devils and whatnot. You're plenty powerful all by your lonesome. With the gruesome twosome on the case, I don't see why you couldn't do this by yourselves or wrangle up a little infernal assistance in a pinch."
Nicodemus considered me curiously. "Was there a point to that prattle that I missed?"
It was my turn to bridle my annoyance. Condescending asshole.
"I'm saying there's something you're not telling us about this mission. I'm pretty sure you don't need associates. I think you need cannon fodder."
I didn't think anyone but Deirdre and I caught the tiny, almost imperceptible smirk that tugged up the corner of his mouth on one side. It lasted only a fraction of a second, gone like a vapor whipped away by the wind on the next blink. But Lasciel had known him over the course of centuries and she didn't miss it.
"Rather expensive cannon fodder, wouldn't you agree, Miss Lenhardt?"
"You've probably got a dozen accounts in the Cayman Islands. You can afford it."
"Two dozen," Nicodemus corrected. "But you're mistaken. I make it a point to accrue investments, not enemies. You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you. You will only become cannon fodder if you find yourself unsuited to the task."
Translation, keep up buttercup. If you die it's your own damn fault.
"Let's go," Hannah said, cutting me off before I could cast around for my next point of contention. Wise. I'd probably said too much already.
Nicodemus motioned the waitress over to our table. She gave us a very professional smile. She was pretty. Short, busty, brunette.
"What can I do to help you?"
"The check please."
"Wait just a second."
Hostile stares surrounded me on all sides, including from within. Even Lasciel's patience was wearing thin.
"What now?"
"Another side of bacon," I said cheerfully. "Then the check."
Nicodemus closed his eyes very briefly. "A side of bacon for the cormorant as well."
Evil, patronizing prick. The sooner this mission was over, the better.
"Alright people," I said, rubbing my hands together. "Operation Bathrobe is underway."